


the click

by boredsince1894



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Fluff, I am so sorry about the angst, I love her, I promise, I promise!, M/M, btw I know it seems like Gwen bashing but it's not, but it has a happy ending, it really shouldn't be rated T but I'm a careful person like that, janto, this is inspired by the 1958 movie cat on a hot tin roof, you'll understand if you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6044038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredsince1894/pseuds/boredsince1894
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long couple of days for Ianto Jones, and he really needs to unwind while he waits for Jack to get home. Turning on the TV, he sees that the movie Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is on. His mum used to watch it, he remembers. Surely leaving it on while he relaxes won't do any harm...right?</p><p>Please read my notes on this. I feel like it's weird enough to require an explanation lol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the click

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youngbek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngbek/gifts).



> I just watched the 1958 Cat on a Hot Tin Roof for the first time last night (I've never seen or read the play) because Gareth David Lloyd is currently playing the character Brick onstage. As soon as I watched the movie I NEEDED to write this. I typed and edited it until 3:40 in the morning, so bear with me please. All of the lines between Gwen and Jack are taken from the movie and tweaked for my purposes, as is the last line about a click. You don't have to see the movie to enjoy this, tho.
> 
> Speaking of which, this is a gift to youngbek (check her out, she's brilliant!!!) because she watched as this outrageous idea formed in my mind and was so kind and supportive all the way through to the finished product. Love you, gurl
> 
> I apologize for how cruel I am to Gwen in here. I promise, it's with the intent of keeping to the plot of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and not because I hate her; I love her! Sorry, Gwen.

         Fifty nine.

         That’s how many hours it had been since the last time Ianto Jones had slept. Actually, fifty nine hours and seventeen minutes. But who was counting?

         ‘Course, one of the first lessons you learn after joining Torchwood is that malignant aliens don’t care about it being days past your bedtime. Nevertheless, as he willed himself to steadily drop onto his couch (as opposed to collapsing and missing it entirely), Ianto was cursing the dozen Krillitanes that had flown through the Rift and straight into the nearest Tesco. He’d been so tired already, he hadn’t even thought to make a “Clean up on aisle ten” quip when they had found the first victim of the day, splayed out next to some scattered cans of vegetables. Looking back, it was probably best that he hadn’t.

         And now, at 5:47 PM, he was spread on his comfortable couch, in his silent flat, waiting for Jack. He said he’d be there, just as soon as he tied up some loose ends. “Go home,” he had urged Ianto. “I’ll be there in less than an hour. Get a taxi and get some sleep before you fall over. I’m not carrying you out of the Hub.”

          _Sleep_ , Ianto thought. _That sounded nice._ But, no matter how hard he tried, Jack could never manage to slip into bed without waking Ianto. So, there he was, turning on the TV and flipping through channel after channel until Jack came home. Finally, he settled on an old movie called _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof._ He vaguely remembered meandering in and out of his childhood living room, seeing his mother stretched out on the sofa, watching it intently. She’d read the play before. Said the movie “didn’t have the pink” that the play had, whatever that meant. Drawing his knees to his chest to get more comfortable, Ianto supposed he’d find out. That was, if he didn’t stop blinking so much, and for so long….

         Suddenly, Ianto heard voices coming from the kitchen. Jack’s voice. He hadn’t heard him come through the door. That was odd. And why was Gwen here? She’d gone home before he had. Surely she would’ve distanced herself as far as possible from anything and anyone work-related, after the exhausting days they had had. Heaving himself off the couch, he made his way to the kitchen to greet them. _Hmm_ , Ianto thought. _I’d forgotten we’d redecorated._ Jack was going through a fifties phase. Nostalgia, and what not. He occasionally had those, but never quite to this extent.

         Rubbing his eyes, he padded up to Gwen and Jack. When he could finally focus, he noticed that Gwen was wearing a white vintage dress, and Jack was in pajamas. Alright, he hadn’t thought Gwen to be the cocktail dress sort of girl, especially right after work, but he knew for a fact that Jack didn’t own a single pair of pajamas. _Whatever. Must have just bought them and didn’t tell me._

         But hang on. They were...arguing. Not unusual, for them, but couldn’t it wait until morning? He huffed out a sigh to get their attention. Nothing. Fine.

         “Gwen, lovely to see you. Not that I was trying to sleep or anything.”

         She didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him. Neither of them did. Gwen just kept on talking and waving her hands around desperately. Jack just kept leaning against the counter, not looking her in the eye. Instead, he was looking at the glass in his hand.

          _Christ. Jack’s got alcohol. I’ve really missed something._

         “Hello? Right, don’t mind me, you just keep on talking.”

         And they did.

         “Why won’t you just face the truth, just once?” yelled Gwen. “About Ianto, about me, about yourself?”

         “Do you want me to hit you with this crutch?” Jack set his drink down and grabbed at a crutch that Ianto hadn’t noticed before. Jack’s balance wavered ever so slightly as he shifted his weight to pull the crutch back, the threat of a strike quite literally hanging in the air between the three of them. He tried to speak, to shout at Jack to stop, to calm down. But he couldn’t. He just stood there, frozen, silent, and invisible.

         “Are you still blaming me for Ianto’s death?” asked Gwen shrilly. Ianto felt his heart clench before it dropped into his stomach. He wasn't dead. He _wasn't._ He _couldn't_ be. And whenever he did die, if Gwen lived longer, she couldn't blame herself. It wasn't right. Her eyes were pleading, but she never flinched away from the furious man in front of her. Jack’s grip tightened.

         “I could kill you with this crutch.”

         “Good Lord! Do you think I’d care?”

         Jack lowered the crutch slowly before placing it under his arm. He walked right past Ianto the ghost. Because that must be what he was. A ghost.

         “Ianto and I had a friendship,” Jack breathed out, trying desperately to keep his tone even. His knuckles turned white as his fingers gripped the crutch, as if doing so would help the woman understand. “Why won’t you let it alone?”

         “It’s got to be told!” Gwen cried, moving towards him, arms outstretched. Jack retaliated by taking a few steps back, turning away from her.

         “I don’t want to hear it!”

         “It’s got to be told, and you never let me tell it.” She tried again to get close, but Jack only maneuvered himself around the counter, doing everything he could to block out the sight of her, keep the sound of her voice from banging against his eardrums. A disgusting “I love you,” hit Jack, followed by an equally repellent, “and that’s worth fighting for.”

         And the worst blow of all?

        “Ianto is dead! And I’m alive! Gwen the cat is alive! I’m alive! _Why are you afraid of the truth?”_

         Ianto shut his eyes. He couldn’t bear it. Jack wouldn’t run off with Gwen if he died. He wouldn’t do that. And Gwen wouldn’t do that to Rhys, or to Ianto. The memory of him, whatever. Neither of them would. This wasn’t right. It _couldn’t_ be--

        “IANTO!”

         His eyes flashed open. They desperately adjusted to the light, trying to cling to anything, _anything_ that made sense. They latched onto blue. A set of blue circles.

        Another pair of eyes.

        “Jack?”

        Two arms--neither of which were hindered by a crutch placed under them--wrapped around him and pulled him into a hug.

        “Was it bad?” asked Ianto into Jack’s shoulder. Jack pulled back and studied him gently.

         “You were fidgeting nonstop. You were muttering something, too. Something about needing to hear a click? So. You tell me. _Was it bad?”_ Ianto furrowed his brow.

        “I don’t remember anything about a click. But...God, you’re going to think the whole thing is ridiculous.” A small smile twisted his lips. Deliberate. An attempt at reassurance that everything was okay. It was a bad one.

         “Anything can be understandably scary in a dream, Ianto. Hell, I’m never going to get over the one I had about the cereal.”

         Ianto shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. You….” He sucked in a breath, trying to pace himself. “You and Gwen were together. I was dead, I suppose.” Jack tensed. “You seemed to be fighting about me. You said that we had been friends. Gwen seemed to suggest it was more than that, which you didn’t like very much.” Ianto waited for some sort of reply, but nothing came. Jack just sat beside him, listening. His eyes were hard, trying to understand. So Ianto continued.

        “You threatened her with a crutch you had. That was odd. Actually, a lot of odd things should have made me realize it was a dream right away. Gwen and the kitchen looked like they had come out of a 50s magazine, and you were wearing _pajamas._ The latter should have been the clincher, but--”

         Jack’s eyebrows shot up. He turned to the television screen which still lit up the room. Letting out a low whistle, Jack set his eyes back on Ianto. Relief--and a slight hint of amusement--were etched in them.

         “Ianto Jones, you are _never_ allowed to watch upsetting films while you try to sleep ever again. Your subconscious just played out a scene from the movie _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_ , with Gwen and I as the starring roles.” Ianto listened intently, nodding as everything fell into place.

         “And who was I supposed to be?”

         Jack grimaced.

        “Skipper. Hey,” he said as the other man snorted, “I bet he would have thought the name Ianto was pretty weird, too. _Anyways._ Skipper...you know, you should just read the play. I’m sure I have a copy somewhere. I mean, the movie’s nice and all. Can’t beat a knockout cast like Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman. But it pretty heavily censored a huge part of the play, which was the fact that my character, Brick, and your character, Skipper, were lovers.” Ianto’s eyes went wide.

        “Oh! That’s what she meant.”

        “Um, who meant what?”

        “My mum. She used to watch this movie every now and then. She would say it ‘didn’t have the pink’ that was in the play it was based on. I get it now. Two men together. Ha ha.”

        “Well, your mum was right.“ A mischievous grin started to form on Jack’s lips. “It would have been quite the scandal back in the 50s. Watching TV with the family and finding Brick and Skipper in the position we’re in now….” Ianto grabbed his hand before it could slink any higher up his thigh.

        “Sleep first. I need at least seven hours of sleep before you try and play out any of your weird Brick and Skipper fantasies.”

        Jack stuck his lower lip out in a pathetic pout before his face lit up.

        “Well, we better get you comfortable then, if you’re going to get those unnecessary--”

         “Absolutely necessary!”

        “--seven hours of sleep in.”

        He turned off the troublesome movie and took Ianto’s hands in his own before pulling him off of the couch. He led Ianto to their bedroom, where they quietly undressed, simply for the sake of being comfortable. It was several minutes after they had settled in between the sheets before Ianto felt a hand curl around his stomach.

        “Ianto?”

        “Hmm?” he murmured, eyelids starting to droop.

        “You know Gwen would never try to take your place, and I would never let her, right?”

         Ianto tensed. After all the joking around, he had completely forgotten about that aspect of the dream. Jack immediately started rubbing circles into his stomach with his thumb.

        “Hey, _hey._ It’s okay.”

        Ianto nodded, knowing Jack would be waiting for that signal.

        Suddenly, everything that had been rushing through his brain stopped to consider: he knew that Jack would be waiting for it. He knew that he could rely on him to be the other half of their understanding....And that was the click he had been waiting for. The click in his head that made him feel peaceful.

        Finally, Ianto could sleep.


End file.
